


Thirteen.

by polkachipped



Series: RP Sides Shenanigans [1]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Gen, and remy (sleep) sees hallucinations, deceit has stockholm syndrom, emile is the therapist in all this and he's hc'd with schizophrenia, logan is apathetic and he has a voice in his head, oof, patton is maniacal and easily set off, roman is prone to self harm and anger and generally hates himself, theres really a lot to unpack, this is a small thingie, virgil is addicted to drugs, where the sides are pretty much all insane
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-12
Updated: 2018-06-12
Packaged: 2019-05-21 05:58:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14909667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/polkachipped/pseuds/polkachipped
Summary: Logan has needed help for a while, and finally the others force him to get it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is based off an rp acc i run on tumblr @logicallylogos
> 
> i swear when i started the acc logan was normal
> 
> a lot of shit happened o boi
> 
> if u need further explanation, here: https://logicallylogos.tumblr.com/post/172952049858/hi-um-in-your-role-plays-i-see-you-do-this

“C̶l̶i̶c̶k̶.̶ ̶C̶l̶i̶c̶k̶.̶ ̶C̶l̶i̶c̶k̶.̶ ̶C̶l̶i̶c̶k̶.̶ ̶”

 

“How many times has he killed them?!”

 

“C̶l̶i̶c̶k̶.̶ ̶C̶l̶i̶c̶k̶.̶ ̶C̶l̶i̶c̶k̶.̶ ̶C̶l̶i̶c̶k̶.̶ ̶”

 

“I don’t know, you’ll have to ask him.”

 

The clock made a similar sound to the one Logan emitted, tick tocking along as he clicked right with the sound. Tick. ̶C̶l̶i̶c̶k̶.̶ Tock. ̶C̶l̶i̶c̶k̶.̶ Tick. ̶C̶l̶i̶c̶k̶.̶ Tock. ̶C̶l̶i̶c̶k̶.̶ Over and over. A little dreamy sigh escaped him as he imagined punching the clock, imagining the glass digging into his flesh, the fantastical pain it would cause.

But, well, he couldn’t do that.

He was wearing a straightjacket. 

 

“What do you mean,  _ you don’t know?!”  _ He heard Picani’s exasperated tone outside his locked door, the cold walls thin, the light table almost rattling in the weight of their footsteps outside. Everything was meek and grey, dull white walls and dirty concrete floors the only thing to surround him. The emptiness of the metal and plastic chair in front of him sat expectantly, as if it knew it were awaiting someone. He tapped his heel on the leg of his own metal chair once, before returning to that deadly still stare he had initiated at the clock.

 

“I mean, I  _ don’t know.  _ How would I be able to remember? I can barely remember how many deaths  _ I’ve  _ had, I sure as hell can’t remember _ theirs.” _

 

Sounded like Roman. He knew for a fact it was Roman, for he was the one who had put him here. In an act of desperation, once he had lashed out one too many times at another side.  _ ‘Progress is progress,’  _ Roman had spat at him, although now that he thought about it, he might have said the phrase in a more pained and tired manner. But at the time, it seemed incredibly hostile.

 

“C̶l̶i̶c̶k̶.̶ ̶C̶l̶i̶c̶k̶.̶ ̶C̶l̶i̶c̶k̶.̶ ̶C̶l̶i̶-̶c̶l̶i̶-̶c̶l̶i̶-̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶ ̶k̶n̶o̶w̶,̶ ̶i̶t̶'̶s̶ ̶s̶u̶r̶p̶r̶i̶s̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶h̶o̶w̶ ̶t̶h̶i̶s̶ ̶o̶n̶e̶ ̶i̶s̶n̶'̶t̶ ̶e̶v̶e̶n̶ ̶m̶y̶ ̶f̶a̶u̶l̶t̶,̶ ̶t̶h̶i̶s̶ ̶t̶i̶m̶e̶.̶ ̶C̶l̶i̶-̶c̶l̶i̶-̶c̶l̶i̶c̶k̶.̶” Logan chuckled at himself, shoulders twitching at the tightness of his restraints before he could still again, lips curled in a subtle snarl. “You’re the one who let Patton get this  _ bag _ on us,” he responded to himself.

 

“C̶l̶i̶c̶k̶-̶ ̶I̶ ̶w̶a̶s̶ ̶u̶n̶c̶o̶n̶s̶c̶i̶o̶u̶s̶.̶ ̶I̶ ̶w̶a̶s̶n̶'̶t̶ ̶a̶w̶a̶k̶e̶,̶ ̶I̶ ̶w̶a̶s̶ ̶p̶o̶i̶s̶o̶n̶e̶d̶.̶ ̶I̶-̶ ̶c̶l̶i̶c̶k̶-̶ ̶c̶o̶u̶l̶d̶n̶'̶t̶ ̶e̶x̶a̶c̶t̶l̶y̶ ̶d̶o̶ ̶a̶n̶y̶t̶h̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶g̶e̶t̶ ̶h̶i̶m̶ ̶a̶w̶a̶y̶ ̶f̶r̶o̶m̶ ̶m̶e̶.̶”

 

“I told you to check that cup for poison, but you never listen to me-”

 

“B̶e̶c̶a̶u̶s̶e̶-̶ ̶c̶l̶i̶c̶k̶-̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶'̶r̶e̶ ̶a̶l̶w̶a̶y̶s̶ ̶s̶o̶ ̶f̶u̶c̶k̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶p̶a̶r̶a̶n̶o̶i̶d̶-̶”

 

“I  _ obviously  _ have good  _ reason  _ to be-!”

 

A loud stomping down the hallway occured, and he ceased his arguing. The fading sound was soon followed by a tired sigh, the more subdued pattern of footsteps approaching his door. The tinkling of keys slamming into each other. The  _ “c̶l̶i̶c̶k̶” _ sound of the lock unlatching, and soon he met eye to eye with the weathered therapist, Picani offering a weak smile while Logan gave nothing but a curious raise of the eyebrow. 

 

“Ah, right. Hello, Logan, it’s been a good while since we’ve last seen each other!” 

 

The shrink laughed awkwardly for a moment, closing the thin, creaking door shut behind him and pulling out the chair opposite Logan, the groan of chair feet scraping against light stone extremely loud in the otherwise silent room. 

 

“So,” he began, summoning a wooden clipboard and a mechanical pencil. “One of you hasn’t introduced themselves to me…”

 

Dead eyes were all that stared back at Picani, as if he were not looking at him but rather  _ through  _ him. Not through him to the wall behind him, no, through him as if he were attempting to scan every single neuron the therapist’s brain fired, every travel of memory and thought process otherwise hidden behind bone walls.

“The silent treatment, ey? Well, that’s quite alright, I’m as patient as Garnet and about half as pretty. Besides, my future vision says you’ll crack up any moment now.”

 

Not a word of that sentence made any sense to Logan.

 

Picani was trying for a reaction- a smile, a squint, a ‘what are you saying’, he would even have accepted a ‘shut up’, but all he got was that same silence. He wished he could see into the heads of his patients, that would make things infinitely easier.

 

C̶l̶i̶c̶k̶-̶ ̶w̶h̶a̶t̶'̶s̶ ̶f̶u̶t̶u̶r̶e̶ ̶v̶i̶s̶i̶o̶n̶?̶

 

_ Judging by the context, it sounds like a crude name for precognition. _

 

D̶o̶e̶s̶ ̶h̶e̶ ̶h̶a̶v̶e̶ ̶t̶h̶a̶t̶?̶

 

_ Not sure. _

 

Logan had begun to zone out, until Picani piped up once more, clearing his throat as a way to keep Logan’s attention.  

 

“You know, the straight jacket wasn’t my idea, promise. I’m your average therapist, I prefer to speak to each other as  _ people _ , but the others insisted on keeping you in that cramped self-hug machine, concerned for  _ my  _ safety.” The words he spoke were true, however a small part of him was relieved that he  _ had  _ lost the argument of whether Logan should be restrained. The stories of Logan’s semi-recent descent into ‘insanity’ seemed like any old episode of Courage the Cowardly Dog; scary, wacky, imagined and bizarre. But now that he was here, staring into Logan’s empty gaze in person, he couldn’t help but feel as if those stories weren’t fiction, but very, very real.

No response.

 

“Hah, right… Well, you’re going to have to speak to me eventually, you know. Even silent characters like Dopey and Tinkerbell have a voice. And from the stories, the others tell me that you have  _ two.” _

 

Tick. ̶C̶l̶i̶c̶k̶.̶  Tock. ̶C̶l̶i̶c̶k̶.̶ Tick. ̶C̶l̶i̶c̶k̶.̶  Tock. ̶C̶l̶i̶c̶k̶.̶ 

 

Logan rolled his jaw to hear it crack, before taking another few good seconds of silence. Picani was about to speak again until Logan adjusted himself in his chair, leaning forward as the table shifted slightly with his weight pressing against the edge. “...Thirteen.”

 

“...I beg your pardon? Was that Logan, or was that-”

“Thirteen. Considered an unlucky number in western areas, for many various reasons. Biblical references: there were thirteen people at the Last Supper, the thirteenth being Judas Iscariot, the betrayer of Jesus. Coincidence: women menstruate around thirteen times a year. Pop culture: friday the thirteenth is the day the murderer Jason wrecks havoc in the popular franchise. Mythical influence: a witches cove is said to have thirteen members in books and recordings. Faulty logic: twelve is considered a perfect number in numerology, so thirteen must be unlucky for if you add a digit to perfection, the image is positively ruined.”

 

Tick. ̶C̶l̶i̶c̶k̶.̶ Tock. ̶C̶l̶i̶c̶k̶.̶ Tick. ̶C̶l̶i̶c̶k̶.̶ Tock.̶C̶l̶i̶c̶k̶.̶ 

 

Picani had begun to scribble on his clipboard; he wasn’t writing what Logan was saying, per se, but rather the way he was saying it. The other hadn’t made a ‘clicking noise’ during that rant as Roman had warned him about, so he assumed this was their Logan that was talking. 

 

Tick. ̶C̶l̶i̶c̶k̶.̶ Tock. ̶C̶l̶i̶c̶k̶.̶ Tick. ̶C̶l̶i̶c̶k̶.̶ Tock.̶C̶l̶i̶c̶k̶.̶ 

“This is all very fascinating, Logan, but what-”

“However, in many other cultures, thirteen is considered lucky. Take Greece: the thirteenth god was the most powerful god in Greek mythology- Zeus. Thailand: the Thai new year is celebrated on April thirteenth, where they quite literally attempt to wash away the ‘bad omens’ by splashing water on others. Hindu beliefs: the thirteenth day of each month is dedicated to one of the deities Lord Shiva, being blessed with wealth, children and happiness in return. Italy: the number thirteen is lucky when it especially comes to gambling, as it was associated with the Goddess of Fertility. And now, take China: where the number thirteen is lucky simply because the word also means ‘assured growth’ and ‘definitely vibrant’ when translated.”

 

Tick. ̶C̶l̶i̶c̶k̶.̶ Tock. ̶C̶l̶i̶c̶k̶.̶ Tick. ̶C̶l̶i̶c̶k̶.̶ Tock.̶C̶l̶i̶c̶k̶.̶ 

 

After this rant, Logan had once again fallen silent, staring ahead at Picani as the therapist squinted in mild confusion. “Okay… Logan. Really interesting history, it really is, but… Why did you say that? What’s so important about fancy number  _ thirteen?” _

 

Logan waited a few more seconds, leaning away from the table as he sat in perfect posture. Waiting. Waiting, waiting, waiting. Waiting until Picani looked as if he were going to say something once more, just to interrupt him.

Tick. ̶C̶l̶i̶c̶k̶.̶

 

“Because,” he spoke up finally, watching Picani’s mouth close in surprise. “I would make a judgement to say that while normally I don’t care for the cultures and ideas surrounding random numbers, thirteen is a lucky number for me, and a very unlucky number for you.”

 

Tock. ̶C̶l̶i̶c̶k̶.̶

 

“And why is that?” asked Picani, pushing his glasses up on his face with the back of his pencil.

 

“B̶e̶c̶a̶u̶s̶e̶,̶ ̶c̶l̶i̶c̶k̶-̶ ̶i̶n̶ ̶t̶h̶i̶r̶t̶e̶e̶n̶ ̶m̶i̶n̶u̶t̶e̶s̶,̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶'̶r̶e̶ ̶g̶o̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶b̶e̶ ̶d̶e̶a̶d̶.̶”

 

He threw his head back in laughter, a long, breathy, wheezing, clicking and sickening laugh to escape him as he tapped his feet on the floor in pure glee.


	2. Thirteen. Twelve. Eleven. Ten...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> o o f

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> despite loving stories im a terrible reader so if i made spelling mistakes im sorry i typed this out in the car and my brain tends to fly right over grammatical errors

“W-What?”

 

Picani’s soft question was asked with a confused smile; an odd reaction to being told he would die in the next few minutes, but a reaction nonetheless. He was trained to keep calm during these things, even if his life was threatened. He waited for Logan to gradually stop laughing, so he could talk to him properly again.

 

Logan ceased his laughter with a sigh, looking back at Picani with the same blank stare. It was a little startling- no previous sign of amusement was left on his face, the small room around them completely silent once more. Shaking off this mildly disconcerting change in atmosphere, he readjusted his posture and asked again.

 

“What do you mean? Logan, I am only trying to help you, honest. We’re only trying to understand why-”

 

“O̶h̶,̶ ̶I̶ ̶s̶u̶p̶p̶o̶s̶e̶ ̶t̶h̶a̶t̶ ̶i̶s̶ ̶a̶l̶l̶ ̶o̶n̶e̶ ̶c̶a̶n̶ ̶d̶o̶,̶ ̶h̶m̶?̶ ̶T̶r̶y̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶u̶n̶d̶e̶r̶s̶t̶a̶n̶d̶ ̶w̶h̶y̶.̶ ̶ ̶C̶l̶i̶c̶k̶-̶ ̶'̶W̶h̶y̶'̶ ̶i̶s̶ ̶a̶ ̶v̶e̶r̶y̶ ̶d̶r̶a̶i̶n̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶q̶u̶e̶s̶t̶i̶o̶n̶,̶ ̶D̶o̶c̶t̶o̶r̶,̶ ̶o̶n̶e̶ ̶t̶h̶a̶t̶ ̶I̶ ̶t̶h̶i̶n̶k̶-̶ ̶c̶l̶i̶c̶k̶-̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶ ̶s̶h̶o̶u̶l̶d̶ ̶s̶t̶o̶p̶ ̶a̶s̶k̶i̶n̶g̶.̶ ̶Y̶o̶u̶ ̶w̶i̶l̶l̶ ̶o̶n̶l̶y̶ ̶r̶e̶c̶e̶i̶v̶e̶ ̶m̶o̶r̶e̶ ̶p̶a̶i̶n̶ ̶t̶h̶a̶n̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶ ̶d̶e̶s̶e̶r̶v̶e̶.̶”

 

Picani opened his mouth to say something, before promptly closing it, instead taking in the changed behavior Logan exhibited. His shoulders were more hunched, his head twitching every so often. A scowl decorated his features. His voice was more gravelly and strained than usual, not to mention that vocal tic. 

 

Picani supposed this meant Logan’s... ‘other consciousness’ was now in play.

 

Tapping his clipboard with his pen, Picani set the tools aside, deciding to attempt to talk to this mental development one-on-one. He would never gain their trust if he continued to scribble down notes while the other talked- this wasn’t any old therapy session anymore. Now he had his life to worry about.

 

“Do you mind telling me your name?”

 

“L̶o̶g̶a̶n̶.̶”

 

“No, not  _ his  _ name,  _ your  _ name. Do you have a name?”

 

“L̶o̶g̶a̶n̶.̶”

 

Picani froze at that, blinking at the man before him. “Oh.” The answer threw him off for a moment, trying to think of what to ask next. Logan and Logan? How would they know which one of him he was talking to? He was again reminded of the insanity of the situation- the cause of that insanity being Logan himself. 

 

Tick. C̶l̶i̶c̶k̶.̶ Tock. C̶l̶i̶c̶k̶.̶

 

“T̶e̶n̶.̶”

 

The therapist jumped, once again reminded of his ticking clock. Taking a deep breath, he calmed himself. He was in control of the situation, after all. If he felt his safety was  _ truly  _ on the line, he could leave the room. Logan can’t exactly do a lot of damage with his arms wrapped tightly around him.

 

“Right, right. Well, how long have you been conscious for? Do you remember what may have triggered this?”

 

Logan sat there, in his plastic chair, twitching in thought for a few moments, before deciding to sit up straighter. His scowl switched off for a more concerned expression, his eyebrows knit together in worry. 

It might have been an attempt, but the face Logan wore still seemed off somehow, as if Logan didn’t truly know what a concerned expression even looked like.

 

“Y̶o̶u̶-̶ ̶c̶l̶i̶c̶k̶-̶ ̶s̶h̶o̶u̶l̶d̶n̶'̶t̶ ̶g̶o̶ ̶l̶o̶o̶k̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶i̶n̶t̶o̶ ̶m̶a̶t̶t̶e̶r̶s̶ ̶t̶h̶a̶t̶ ̶a̶r̶e̶n̶'̶t̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶r̶ ̶c̶o̶n̶c̶e̶r̶n̶.̶ ̶Y̶o̶u̶ ̶m̶a̶y̶ ̶f̶i̶n̶d̶ ̶t̶h̶a̶t̶ ̶s̶t̶i̶c̶k̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶r̶ ̶n̶o̶s̶e̶ ̶w̶h̶e̶r̶e̶ ̶i̶t̶ ̶d̶o̶e̶s̶n̶'̶t̶ ̶b̶e̶l̶o̶n̶g̶,̶ ̶c̶l̶i̶c̶k̶-̶ ̶w̶i̶l̶l̶ ̶g̶e̶t̶ ̶i̶t̶ ̶b̶i̶t̶t̶e̶n̶ ̶o̶f̶f̶.̶”

 

Picani sniffed at this, as if imagining the pain of having a nose torn off with teeth. “Are you threatening me, Logan?”

 

“I̶'̶m̶ ̶l̶e̶t̶t̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶ ̶k̶n̶o̶w̶-̶ ̶c̶l̶i̶c̶k̶-̶ ̶w̶h̶a̶t̶'̶s̶ ̶g̶o̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶h̶a̶p̶p̶e̶n̶ ̶i̶n̶ ̶n̶i̶n̶e̶ ̶m̶i̶n̶u̶t̶e̶s̶.̶”

 

Picani sighed. This wasn’t exactly getting him anywhere. And frankly, watching his good friend struggle with this mental illness almost hurt him physically. He truly only wanted to help- he knew the struggles a sick mind can provide and he only wanted to help his good friend.

But this person Picani was speaking to? He wasn’t his friend, no. Picani’s normally cheerful attitude has long since gone, his optimism held on pause as he tried to think.

 

“Alright. May I speak to the other Logan now, please?”

 

Logan paused, his eyes glazing over and his twitching movement stopping almost completely. His lips moved as if they were trying to speak words, but no sound came out. Picani wondered what was going on in his head.

 

_ Nine minutes. Nine minutes. Eight minutes. _

 

W̶o̶u̶l̶d̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶ ̶l̶i̶k̶e̶-̶ ̶c̶l̶i̶c̶k̶-̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶s̶a̶y̶ ̶s̶o̶m̶e̶t̶h̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶t̶h̶i̶s̶ ̶m̶a̶n̶,̶ ̶o̶r̶ ̶s̶h̶o̶u̶l̶d̶ ̶I̶ ̶k̶e̶e̶p̶ ̶e̶n̶t̶e̶r̶t̶a̶i̶n̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶h̶i̶m̶?̶

 

_ He’ll have to be distracted if I’m going to focus on dislocating our arms. I’m getting out of this cloth torture device- you keep talking to him. _

Y̶o̶u̶ ̶n̶e̶e̶d̶ ̶a̶ ̶d̶i̶s̶t̶r̶a̶c̶t̶i̶o̶n̶?̶

 

_...Yes. What are- _

 

Logan snapped back to reality, his baseline scowl now accentuated, lips curled in a snarl. He kicked the table in front of him at Picani, whose arms flew over his face in surprise. “W̶h̶a̶t̶,̶ ̶a̶m̶ _ ̶I̶ _ ̶n̶o̶t̶-̶ ̶c̶l̶i̶c̶k̶-̶ ̶a̶d̶e̶q̶u̶a̶t̶e̶ ̶e̶n̶o̶u̶g̶h̶ ̶f̶o̶r̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶r̶ ̶m̶e̶n̶t̶a̶l̶ ̶e̶v̶a̶l̶u̶a̶t̶i̶o̶n̶s̶?̶”

He meant to sound hurt, but it seemed like he really didn’t have the capability of speaking in anything more than a monotone voice. The distraction still worked anyway, Picani focused on placing the table back on its feet while Logan felt two cracks in his shoulders. He made a note of the excruciating pain it had caused, but his face didn’t show it. 

 

“Logan, please- I need you to calm down.” It was an odd plea to ask of him, considering Logan did indeed seem very calm. That kick to the table came out of nowhere. Picani’s shoulders tensed up as he watched Logan stand, beginning to pace the room, always staying in front of the therapist. 

Logan couldn’t risk Picani feeling unsafe and leaving the room. He doubted that would happen- he knows Picani is capable of being one stubborn man.

Fortunately for him, Logan was  _ two  _ stubborn men.

 

“A̶ ̶l̶o̶t̶ ̶o̶f̶ ̶t̶h̶i̶n̶g̶s̶ ̶h̶a̶p̶p̶e̶n̶e̶d̶,̶ ̶D̶o̶c̶t̶o̶r̶.̶ ̶C̶l̶i̶c̶k̶.̶ ̶A̶r̶e̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶ ̶e̶v̶e̶n̶ ̶a̶ ̶r̶e̶a̶l̶ ̶d̶o̶c̶t̶o̶r̶?̶ ̶T̶e̶l̶l̶ ̶m̶e̶-̶c̶l̶i̶c̶k̶-̶ ̶w̶h̶e̶r̶e̶ ̶d̶i̶d̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶ ̶g̶e̶t̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶r̶ ̶P̶h̶D̶,̶ ̶h̶m̶-̶?̶”

 

“Logan, I’m your friend, you already  _ know _ where-” 

 

“I̶'̶m̶ ̶n̶o̶t̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶r̶ ̶f̶r̶i̶e̶n̶d̶.̶ ̶C̶l̶i̶c̶k̶-̶  _ ̶H̶e̶ _ ̶i̶s̶.̶ ̶W̶e̶ ̶a̶r̶e̶ ̶n̶o̶t̶ ̶o̶n̶e̶ ̶i̶n̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶s̶a̶m̶e̶.̶ ̶Y̶o̶u̶ ̶w̶o̶u̶l̶d̶ ̶d̶o̶ ̶w̶e̶l̶l̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶s̶t̶o̶p̶ ̶m̶a̶k̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶t̶h̶a̶t̶ ̶m̶i̶s̶t̶a̶k̶e̶ ̶n̶o̶w̶.̶”

 

Picani had a sneaking suspicion that Logan very much enjoyed interrupting him, for some odd reason.

He watched as this stranger by the name of Logan paced circles in front of him, arms writhing in the straightjacket he was forced to wear. Once being against that idea, Picani now silently thanked the restricting sweater for protecting him. If Logan could still use his hands, Picani had no doubt they would be around his throat in this moment.

“S̶i̶x̶.̶ ̶S̶i̶x̶.̶ ̶F̶i̶v̶e̶.̶ ̶C̶l̶i̶c̶k̶-̶ ̶T̶i̶m̶e̶ ̶g̶o̶e̶s̶ ̶b̶y̶ ̶o̶d̶d̶l̶y̶ ̶f̶a̶s̶t̶,̶ ̶d̶o̶n̶'̶t̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶ ̶t̶h̶i̶n̶k̶?̶ ̶T̶h̶e̶ ̶b̶r̶a̶i̶n̶'̶s̶ ̶p̶e̶r̶c̶e̶p̶t̶i̶o̶n̶ ̶o̶f̶ ̶t̶i̶m̶e̶ ̶c̶a̶n̶ ̶b̶e̶c̶o̶m̶e̶ ̶s̶o̶ ̶g̶a̶r̶b̶l̶e̶d̶-̶c̶l̶i̶c̶k̶-̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶s̶e̶ ̶f̶a̶u̶l̶t̶y̶ ̶c̶o̶m̶p̶u̶t̶e̶r̶s̶ ̶w̶e̶ ̶c̶a̶l̶l̶ ̶c̶e̶r̶e̶b̶r̶u̶m̶s̶ ̶c̶a̶n̶ ̶b̶e̶ ̶t̶r̶i̶c̶k̶e̶d̶ ̶s̶o̶ ̶e̶a̶s̶i̶l̶y̶.̶”

 

Picani blinked, not comprehending what Logan was saying for a moment. Why did he decide to drive the conversation  _ here  _ of all places? He was still painfully aware that Logan intended to murder him very soon, yet he still kept calm, exactly how he was trained. “Yup. They sure can- I would definitely know, considering I’m a therapist! Heh.” A nervous laugh left him, one he hoped would have sounded genuine.

Although, Logan didn’t seem to know the difference between fake and true laughter. “H̶a̶.̶ ̶V̶e̶r̶y̶ ̶a̶m̶u̶s̶i̶n̶g̶,̶ ̶d̶o̶c̶t̶o̶r̶.̶”

 

He didn’t say a joke, but he also wasn’t going to correct the man on anything. Despite putting it on the line for this simple therapy session, Picani actually valued his life very much.

 

A̶r̶e̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶-̶ ̶c̶l̶i̶c̶k̶-̶ ̶a̶l̶m̶o̶s̶t̶ ̶d̶o̶n̶e̶?̶ ̶I̶'̶m̶ ̶r̶u̶n̶n̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶o̶u̶t̶ ̶o̶f̶ ̶m̶i̶l̶d̶l̶y̶ ̶t̶h̶r̶e̶a̶t̶e̶n̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶t̶h̶i̶n̶g̶s̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶a̶s̶k̶.̶

 

_ Yes, yes. Our arms are in position. Do you think you could relocate them, now? _

 

Picani watched as Logan had stopped in his tracks, before nodding to himself. “C̶l̶i̶c̶k̶.̶ ̶E̶x̶c̶u̶s̶e̶ ̶m̶e̶ ̶f̶o̶r̶ ̶a̶ ̶m̶o̶m̶e̶n̶t̶,̶ ̶D̶o̶c̶t̶o̶r̶,” he pardoned himself in a surprisingly polite manner, before hitting his arm into the wall with brute force, a loud crack to resonate in the room. 

 

“What in the  _ fairly oddparents _ are you doing?!” Picani asked, mildly exasperated.

 

“M̶y̶ ̶a̶p̶o̶l̶o̶g̶i̶e̶s̶.̶ ̶I̶ ̶s̶e̶e̶m̶e̶d̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶h̶a̶v̶e̶ ̶f̶o̶r̶m̶e̶d̶ ̶a̶-̶ ̶c̶l̶i̶c̶k̶-̶ ̶p̶a̶r̶t̶i̶c̶u̶l̶a̶r̶ ̶s̶t̶i̶f̶f̶n̶e̶s̶s̶ ̶i̶n̶ ̶m̶y̶ ̶a̶r̶m̶s̶.̶ ̶N̶o̶ ̶d̶o̶u̶b̶t̶ ̶d̶u̶e̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶t̶h̶i̶s̶ ̶j̶a̶c̶k̶e̶t̶.̶ ̶C̶l̶i̶c̶k̶-̶ ̶O̶n̶e̶ ̶m̶o̶m̶e̶n̶t̶.” He slammed his other shoulder into the wall, another loud crack making Picani wince. After this, Logan strolled back to his seat, sitting down and staring ahead at the confused cartoon therapist as if nothing had happened prior.

 

“...Are you alright?”

 

“Yes, perfectly fine. Thank you for asking.”

 

“Ah, Logan. Welcome back.”

 

“I never left.”

 

That last comment made Picani tilt his head, smiling in confusion. It was a rather ominous thing to say. Yet, it presented him with a perfect line of questioning. “Well, where were you, then?”

 

“Here, of course.”

 

“You couldn’t have been here- I’m asking where you go when your other consciousness takes over.”

“I didn’t go anywhere. Are you alright, Emile?”

 

Picani squinted, adjusting his glasses before deciding to pick up his clipboard again, scratching down notes and things to remember. “I’m fine, Logan.  _ I _ should really be the one asking  _ you _ that question.”

 

“Well, go ahead, then.”

“What?”

 

“You said _ you _ should be the one to ask  _ me  _ that question.”

 

Logan blinked rather innocently at Picani, raising his eyebrows and sitting up in his seat. They stared at each other, a silent moment passing between the two. Logan looked as if he were reading Picani like a book, like one of his beloved Sherlock Holmes stories. He seemed engaged, although being the smart man that he is, he seemed as if he knew exactly what was going to happen next. He looked excited for it, anyway.

 

“Three.”

 

“Okay, okay. Are  _ you  _ alright, Logan?”

 

“No. I am in great pain. As is the usual, for every waking moment of my existence.”

 

His tone was nonchalant and indifferent, as if he had simply said ‘fine’ instead. As if they were still friends, going through the usual small talk two friends did. As if he were just talking about the weather. It concerned Picani immensely. 

 

“Would you like to talk about it?”

 

“Not this moment. To get into it now would require longer than three minutes.”

 

Picani sighed, his heart spiking. What was Logan even going to do? Kick the table at him again? If this was any other patient, he would have told himself that they truly couldn’t do anything. He remembered a time he had talked to Logan about a particular client of his- the advice he had been given. 

 

_ ‘I don’t know what to do. He’s a nice kid, honest. The staff is telling me he’s a lost cause.’ _

_ ‘Emile. You know, if you’ve truly bonded with him in the way you say you have, you won’t have to worry. I believe in your skill. I believe in you. You’re a good therapist, you know.’ _

 

He thought about that moment as he stared ahead at Logan. If he truly believed the two were still friends, as Logan once said:  _ You won’t have to worry.  _ But something nagging at the back of the shrink’s mind told him that they were no longer friends. That Logan did not see him as a pal, or even a person. No- To Logan, he was nothing more than an obstacle, in his way of escaping, getting out of here.

 

“I...I, ah, well- I’m sure you could begin to talk about it, if you really feel this way-”

 

“No, I cannot. I deeply apologize, but there is only two minutes left. And we did not say we would attack you in thirteen minutes, did we?”

 

Picani scooted away from the desk for a moment, waiting for Logan to say more. It seemed that the question wasn’t rhetorical, that Logan did expect an answer from him. The use of ‘we’ unnerved him, like Logan had long since accepted that he was no longer one person. That he was comfortable with it. “N-No, you didn’t. Logan, if you approach me, I’m going to have to call in one of the others-”

 

“No, he said you would be dead in thirteen minutes. The life breathed out of you. Your heart stopped. Your brain cut off from its oxygen supply.”

 

Picani gripped the table in front of him, fully prepared to leap and slam the door shut to this grey, dull room. But Picani found himself frozen, unable to take his eyes off of his former friend. 

 

A few moments later, Logan spoke the last words Picani would hear, that day.

 

“I will see you soon, my friend.”

 

He stood up, quickly pulling the jacket up over his head and launching at Picani, hands outstretched with a particular blood lust.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh boi oh boi

**Author's Note:**

> i got no idea whether i should continue this or leave it as is oofer my doofer


End file.
